‘I think we need to stop by the distillery tomorrow,’ Karen says ten minutes later when they’re back in the car.

‘To talk to William Tryste?’

‘Exactly. They’re distantly related somehow and he saw Fredrik at Gertrud’s house on Christmas Eve, too. William and his wife Helena stopped by to give her flowers, according to Gertrud. And I would also like to talk to someone who works with Gabriel up there. Something about that guy bothers me.’

Chapter 22

22

The post-Christmas slump envelops the local Skreby pub, The Lantern, like a soft blanket when Karen sits down at one of the free window tables. She looks out at the crowded room where about forty men of varying age are enjoying a moment of relaxation after fulfilling their Christmas obligations. The relief of getting away from wives, children, grandchildren, in-laws and relatives you now won’t have to see for another year – unless a wedding or a funeral spoils that plan – is palpable in the quiet din. A handful of women have also found their way to The Lantern tonight for some sorely needed downtime. Or two, to be exact, Karen herself included. Probably single, she thinks, studying the middle-aged woman in the corner, who is reading a book in the company of a bottle of red wine. Christmas may be non-stop joy for children and non-stop work for women, but holiday exhaustion and the need for recuperation are apparently exclusively male.

An uninvited memory of celebrating Christmas in the Hornbys’ posh residence in Surrey intrudes on her thoughts – stiff and groaning under the weight of tradition and no expense spared. So different from her own childhood Christmases in Langevik. So different from how she, John and Mathis celebrated by themselves on Christmas Eve, according to Scandinavian custom. Karen’s mother was always invited – and always declined.

‘I’m not going to England for Christmas, now that I’m finally free to put my feet up. But I’d love to visit in the spring.’

Karen had done her best not to feel hurt by the fact that all the traditions, which she was trying to keep alive, had apparently been nothing but chores for her mother, obligations she seemed relieved to be free of. Eleanor Eiken had never been nostalgic and was definitely not religious.